


The Prince and His Wizard

by sarai377



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Arthurian AU, Childhood Friends, Eventually Mutual Pining, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Sword in the Stone AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 19:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16582793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarai377/pseuds/sarai377
Summary: When adopted Chrom pulls the fabled sword from the stone, revealing his princely status, his best friend Robin is worried for his safety. Ten years ago Robin saw Chrom's fate - a lonely death on a faraway battlefield. Since then he's tried to keep impetuous Chrom from anything resembling that violent end… but he cannot protect him any longer.Sword in the Stone AU, mutual pining mChrobin, minor Sully/Sumia, Slow burn





	The Prince and His Wizard

Chapter 1

It appears in their town, in the courtyard of Naga’s church, overnight. A large, white stone, slashed with golden marbled veins - and in it, a magical sword, almost hilt-deep.

Chrom leads Robin into the crowd gathered nearby, and together, they sneak a peek at it. Robin touches his lips, studying it, and Chrom waits for his assessment. He bounces on the balls of his feet. This means… someone in the town is of secret royal descent. A prince or princess - hidden away from the world, waiting for their chance...

“The tooth of Naga herself,” a blacksmith says, behind them. “It’s got to be! Look at it, the way it glitters in the sun…”

Chrom studies the sword. It is very glittery, and the void where the blade meets the hilt glitters the way Robin’s eyes do when he’s getting a vision. The sword is magic, no doubt about it.  

Naga’s priestesses stand before it, discussing amongst themselves. Chrom catches a bit of their low conversation. “...pull it… blessed… blood…” One of them goes to the sword and tries to draw it out, but it doesn’t budge.

“Maybe the king did have a child out of wedlock, like the rumors said,” an older woman says nearby. Robin’s gold eyes flick to Chrom, and then away. Finally, he says, “Come on. We should tell Ma and Da.”

Chrom agrees, and follows Robin away, although he peers back over his shoulder until they round one of the small thatched-roof houses, and the crowd fades from sight. “Do you think it really is Falchion?” he asks.

Robin glances at him. “I don’t see what else it could be.”

Chrom grabs Robin’s arm and pulls him close. “You could… touch it,” Chrom says. “You could see for sure if it really is.”

Robin’s face goes as white as his hair. “Why would _I_ touch it? I don’t…”

“If it is Falchion - whoever pulls it from the stone is its rightful heir.” They both know the story - fourteen years ago, the king died, and his goddess-blessed sword disappeared. It didn’t go to either of his two daughters. Legend has it that when the time is right, the sword will reappear, and choose its own heir. “It would make them a _prince_.”

Robin stares at Chrom, dumbfounded, and then removes his arm from Chrom’s grip. “Being a prince is a lot of work,” he says.

Chrom grins. “But think of it! All the parties, the big fancy castle… the feasts… Come on, let’s tell Sully. She’ll be so excited!”

Robin frowns, but follows as Chrom strides down the cobblestone street.

~*~

Over the next day, people flock to the town, stuffing its inns full to capacity and setting up tents on the outer edges. When the royal carriage arrives in the town square, everyone turns out to see it. Southtown has never been so full, or had such impressive visitors.

Many of the braver townsfolk have tried to remove the sword from the stone. All failed. Guards were set up to keep people from removing the sword with trickery, and to keep certain people from returning again and again.

Robin and Chrom hang at the outer edges of the church’s courtyard, perched on a half-fallen line of white stones, the edge of an outbuilding that burned down a few years back. Robin leans his elbow on his upturned knee. Chrom kicks his feet out like the cold he used to be, boots thumping against the stones. From here, Robin has a good view of the exalt, inspecting the sword. She’s beautiful, pale hair hanging straight near her face, curled at the ends. The golden crest stands tall behind her head, and the autumn sunlight brightens her green robes.

They might never see royalty like this again. Robin glances at Chrom, and finds him leaning forward, inspecting her across the distance. There’s a yearning in his expression, simple and bright, and Robin remembers his smile, and the way he’d gone on about being a prince.

Robin flicks a crumbling bit of stone to the ground, from beneath his legs, and resettles.

“I’m going to try it,” Chrom says.

Robin stares at him. Chrom looks back, head tilted, the ghost of a smile dancing along his lips. “That’s stupid.”

“It is not.” Chrom grins. “It would be so cool!”

“It’s not all feasting and fun,” Robin says. “There’s politics, and manners, and what if you say something wrong and it starts a _war_?”

But Chrom isn’t really listening. He’s turned back to watch as the exalt tries her delicate hand at removing the sword. She fails, and the crowd gives a collective sigh that is part disappointment and part relief.

“Hey.” Robin bumps Chrom’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Do _not_ try it.”

Chrom looks at him. “Don’t you want to see, too? Don’t you want to know if it’s _you_?”

“It’s not me,” Robin says, tries not to let that question bother him. “I remember my parents. They weren’t royalty.” They weren’t very good parents, either, abandoning him in the woods at the tender age of seven, with only an old woodsman as an occasional caretaker.

Chrom’s eyes narrow, and then his face uncreases. He leans in, and it is suddenly just the two of them, sitting on an old wall, the crowd fading into inconsequence. Their fingers brush together on the cool stone.

“Don’t worry,” Chrom teases, his eyes glinting. “I’m not leaving you behind, no matter what happens.”

Robin stares into Chrom’s blue eyes, full of promise, and everything slows around them. His traitorous heart skips a beat, maybe two, and then trips over itself to catch back up. Chrom means that. He really does…

“You can be my squire,” Chrom says, and cuffs him on the shoulder.

Robin, reeling, just says, “Squire?”

But then Chrom jumps off the wall. He brushes his hands off, smudging dust on his pants, and heads for the crowd. Robin blinks, realizing what he said, what Chrom is about to do…

He scurries down, stumbling on the uneven rubble. He tries to follow, but Chrom’s already disappeared into the mass of people. They parted around Chrom, but make an impassable wall for Robin. It takes him a few moments to get through.

In the sunlight, Chrom’s blue hair glows like sapphires. Robin spots the royal entourage, just turning away to enter their carriage again. The exalt turns, watching Chrom, or perhaps Robin is imagining it.

“Chrom, no!” he shouts, but his voice is lost in the murmuring.

Chrom marches right up to the stone, and bows his head to the priestess. They exchange quiet words, and the priestess turns aside, motioning him forward.

“Chrom!” Robin shoves into a woman, who turns with a scowl and a muffled curse. “Chrom, stop!”

The crowd seems to collectively gather its breath when Chrom’s bare hand settles on the hilt.

Robin skids to a halt, stopped by a brown-haired knight brandishing a lance at him. “Wait your turn,” the knight says, brusque, clipped.

Over the knight’s armored shoulder, Chrom pulls.

With a sound like metal across flint, the sword comes free.

Chrom holds it aloft, staring up at it. Robin sees, from the side, the wonder and effusive delight that light his features. He sees, for an instant, what this means for Chrom. Robin wishes he could share in that joy, but all he has in himself is the vague impression that he’s going to be violently _ill_.

“Robin!” Chrom cries, and turns. He finds Robin in the stunned crowd, behind the knight. “Robin, I did it!” Chrom rushes toward him, grinning.

Robin presses his hands to his mouth. _You idiot_ , he thinks. His mind races, but all that comes out when Chrom stops before him is, “Put it back.”

Chrom blinks at him. “What?”

“Put it back,” Robin says, louder.

“I - I can’t,” Chrom says.

People are cheering and stamping their feet, a thunder rolling around them.

“Why did you pull it in the first place?” Robin demands.

Chrom falters, and some of his happiness fades.

And then, from behind them, Robin hears Sully. “Chrom! That’s my brother! Chrom, you did it!”

She barrels into him, fully clad in armor, and Chrom nearly loses his grip on the sword. Robin ducks from the swinging blade, said to be able to pierce steel and stone in the hand of its chosen wielder.

There’s something spinning in Robin’s chest, a spindle all knotted up, getting more tangled with each rotation. Chrom…is the sword’s chosen wielder. He’s a prince.

He’s a _prince_.

This is trouble.

Suddenly, Robin is being jostled. Chrom grabs his shoulders, pulling him close. “Look,” he says, in a low tone. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you behind. You’re coming with me, no matter what. So stay close, and don’t let anyone force you to leave me.”

And what can Robin say to that, except, weakly, “You’d better not make me your squire.”

~*~

_Ten years ago_

 

Robin blinks down at the insistent boy who crashes through _his_ forest. The boy calls his name, shouting for him, scaring away every living thing in the radius - except Robin.

He shouldn’t go to him, shouldn’t continue this friendship. It’s dangerous - what if he’s found out, what if Chrom discovers what he is… His mother told him to keep his secrets safe. But she’s not here, and Chrom is. Robin can’t help it, drawn like a moth to Chrom’s flame. He’s so… _alive_ , in a way that makes the wonder of the forest both lessen and explode around Robin.

They’ve been spending more and more time together over the past year, since their meeting. Robin’s shown Chrom his tree-hut, and Chrom has shown Robin around his village, introduced him to his family. But whenever Chrom goes to return, and asks Robin to join him, to _stay..._ the pang in his chest grows stronger and stronger.

Robin waits until Chrom passes right beneath his branch. The other boy is larger than Robin, and heavier - built like a bull, and Robin is a fleet-footed deer.

Robin leaps down and tackles Chrom to the ground, and they wrestle. Chrom’s been teaching him some fighting skills, and they throw fists back and forth, neither hitting with much force. Chrom ends up on top, pinning his legs beneath his own.

“Say uncle, Robin,” Chrom demands, and grabs both of Robin’s wrists in one hand, hauling them overhead. “Say uncle, or I’ll do it!”

“No, Chrom, no,” Robin says, and struggles harder. He gets one arm loose, twists his legs free, and shoves his gloved hand into Chrom’s face, trying to unbalance him. Chrom bites him, yanking the leather off. Then Chrom’s other hand finds its way to Robin’s side, fingers curled.

Robin convulses with laughter as Chrom tickles him, squirming and gasping for breath, clawing at the ground. “Uncle! Uncle!” he shouts, and Chrom stops.

They lie still for just a moment, breathing hard. Robin’s face is red with exertion, and Chrom’s is too. He grins, and rolls off, dusting pine needles from his clothes. Then he leans down and offers Robin his hand.

Robin smiles up at him, and takes it.

Vision floods him, all at once, casting everything around him in golden shadows.

Chrom fights on a far-away, decimated battlefield, the skies dark and clouded overhead. He’s older, his face hard and defined, but Robin can tell it’s him. He’s surrounded by faceless, shadowed men, and bleeding from a dozen serious slashes. He’s all alone. He fights, but he’s nearing the end of his strength. A spear cuts through the darkness, catching him high in the chest.

Chrom crumples to the ground, sword flying out of his hand.

Robin wants to cry out, to go to him, but he can’t.

A shadow falls across Chrom, and he looks up, tries to rise. His eyes seem to pierce Robin, to perceive him. There’s a horrible broken laugh. The shadow hovers over Chrom’s body, speaking menacing words that Robin can’t catch. The shadow does _something_ , darkness encapsulated in that outstretched arm - and the light leaves Chrom’s eyes, his body stilling, head lolling toward Robin, eyes open--

“--bin? Robin! Can you hear me? What’s wrong? Your eyes...”

He stares at Chrom, his Chrom, the boy who just wrestled him to the ground. The boy who died, as a man, the image laid over the top of Chrom’s urgent features.

He can’t breathe - it’s like his lungs have stopped working, sealed shut.

Robin’s body, which was rigid, suddenly slackens. They fall back to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and exclamations, on Chrom’s part. The impact shudders air into Robin. He gasps, and then rolls onto his side, beneath Chrom, and hides his face in his hands. “Don’t,” he whispers, and then he’s crying.

“Robin? Robin, what’s wrong?” Chrom touches his shoulder, and Robin flinches from it.

“Don’t touch me!” Robin yelps. The scent of crushed pine needles gathers around them, and he struggles to get his tears back under control.

Robin half-expects Chrom to leave, but when the last wracking sob has left, and he lies there, shivering, eyes still faintly aglow, Chrom says, “Can I… touch you now?”

“Not… my skin,” Robin breathes.

Chrom pats his shoulder. After a few moments, he rises and finds his glove. Robin is shaking so hard it’s difficult to get it on, but it’s harder still to meet Chrom’s eyes. What does he think of Robin, now that he’s seen him like this?

What will he think when Robin tells him what it means?

“Here,” Chrom says, stripping off his cloak and setting it around Robin’s shoulders. Gratefully, he accepts it, more for the scent than for the meager warmth.

Chrom takes his arm and leads him back to his hut. There, he makes tea, steeping it with inexpert hands. Robin shivers next to the banked fire, and thinks about asking Chrom to leave.

“You… you don’t have to tell me what that was,” Chrom says, dumping way too much tea into the ceramic cup.

Robin sweeps away the lingering, constant tears, refusing to look up. That is probably the nicest thing anyone’s said to him, ever. “I should. It’s… going to happen again. I’m… clairvoyant.” The word is complex, and strange - he’s never spoken it aloud before, but he remembers his mother’s tone, like she was chewing on rocks, and his father's awe.

Chrom echoes the word. “Clair-voy-ant. What’s it mean?”

“I see the future, sometimes, when I touch things.”

“Oh.” Chrom thinks about this for a few moments. The kettle whistles, and Chrom pours, then hands Robin the mug.

He holds it, staring into its depths as the water darkens. The tea leaves float in the cup, then sink to the bottom.

“Does it hurt?”

Robin looks up, then to the side, eyes drifting away. He didn't ask what Robin saw, only asked… how Robin feels now. There’s a bit of lingering gold in his vision, like light through a prism. It was a bad one, as these things go. He forces his eyes back to Chrom’s face. “Not… when they happen. Afterwards, sometimes, I get headaches.”

Chrom looks at Robin, then scoots closer. “Can I…?” He motions putting an arm around Robin.

Robin gives him a little nod, and he comes close, careful - so careful - not to brush their skin together. But his hand is firm on his shoulder. Robin sighs, and brings the tea up. It’s bitter and too strong, but it will help with the headache when it arrives. The only sound for a few moments are Robin’s slurps, and Chrom’s soft breathing, so close.

“I’m sorry,” Chrom finally says. “I - I didn’t mean to make you see anything.”

Robin feels like crying again, and hunkers down. “Don’t you want to know what I saw?”

Chrom looks at him. “No. I don’t.”

“You… you don’t want to know how you’re going to die?”

Chrom sucks in a breath. “Do you want to tell me?”

“No.” It’s a soft thing, the admission, but Robin feels a disproportionate amount of relief. “No, I don’t. Not right now, anyway.”

Chrom looks at him, and smiles. “Then you don’t have to.”

Robin leans his head on Chrom’s shoulder, and closes his eyes. He accepts it. A little voice in Robin’s mind whispers, _For now_. But Robin doesn’t think Chrom’s going anywhere.

~*~

There is a great feast at the palace In Ylisstol, thrown in Chrom’s name. He makes certain the whole family gets an invitation. Ma and Pa look uncomfortable, and stay in their seats. Fearless Sully wanders around alone, speaking to every knight she can find, acting as if she owns the place. Robin trails behind Chrom, watching everyone.

Chrom wanders the length of the great hall, greeting people, showing off the sword. He’s enjoying this a great deal. Robin wants to slink away, to join Ma and Pa at their table, but every time he thinks he can or should, Chrom pulls him back in with a word, or gesture, or look. He introduces Robin as “my best friend” to everyone who stops them, and sometimes, “my best friend the wizard,” which catches their attention. Wizards are rare, even in Ylisstol. Robin cringes each time this is brought up, but puts on a good front for Chrom’s sake. It’s too close to admitting his other secret.

When one woman asks Robin to show them some magic, Chrom gets angry. “He’s not a court jester, here for a show,” Chrom growls. The woman’s eyes flash to Chrom in surprise, but Chrom takes Robin’s arm and guides him away.

“You shouldn’t be so rude,” Robin says, but he’s inwardly pleased.

“She was rude,” Chrom retorts, and then sighs. “This… isn’t what I thought it would be like.”

“I told you so,” Robin snaps, before he can help himself.

But Chrom laughs, and shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. This sword was meant to find me.”

Robin’s mouth twists, as they both regard Falchion’s bared length. It _was_ meant for Chrom, Robin realizes, and that thought makes him uneasy. He doesn’t remember the sword from that fated vision, ten years ago

Chrom spins the sword, and Robin winces as the tip grinds a bit into the marble.

“Chrom, the floor!”

Chrom glances down and then shrugs. “I didn’t think it would get this heavy.”

“Too bad it doesn’t fit in any of Sully’s scabbards.”

“Emmeryn would commission one for me.”

The thought of Chrom having access to the royal coffers makes Robin a bit itchy. He’s impulsive - as if the stunt with the sword didn’t prove that - but Exalt Emmeryn doesn’t care. She told Chrom whatever he needed would be his.

As if speaking her name conjures her, the Exalt appears. Her blonde hair is brushed and silky. Robin is aware of the homespun nature of his clothing, of the way it scratches at his neck, his wrists. He and Chrom are going to a seamstress tomorrow, to get some courtly attire made for them. For the first time, Robin is glad of it.

Emmeryn gives them both a little nod, a genuine smile perched on her lips. “Chrom, would you come with me? I want to introduce you to some of my Councilors…” She goes to lead him away, but Chrom pauses.

“Here, hold this,” he says to Robin, and passes the heavy sword to him. “I'll be right back.”

“I’m _not_ your squire...” But Robin takes it, making certain not to drop it.

The moment his hands touch the metal, warmed from Chrom’s hand, a golden veil falls across his eyes. It shimmers, and he goes rigid, and then he sees -

A wedding. A _royal_ wedding, white and gold and navy everywhere. And Chrom, standing before Naga’s altar, flowers in his hair, a great wreath of flowers in white and silver. Beneath the flowers, a golden diadem bearing the royal crest is nestled in his hair. He’s grinning, like he does when Robin truly surprises him with something, or when he bests Sully in their wrestling. Chrom smiles, and swipes at his blue eyes, and offers his arm to--

“Robin?”

Robin blinks, and clutches the sword a bit tighter. The golden sparkles fade, the vision falling away. He’s still looking at Chrom, but he looks different, a ripple between his eyebrows. Robin brushes his face, and realizes he’s crying, at the same instant Chrom does, too.

“Shit. What did you see?” Chrom asks in a low voice. “Was it that bad?”

Robin panics, and ducks away, closing his eyes to disguise the tell-tale glimmer. He doesn’t want any of these courtiers to see, doesn’t want the _Exalt_ to see…

“Robin,” Chrom says, his voice rising.

“It - it was nothing,” Robin whispers.

Chrom follows him when he turns toward the wall. Robin flinches when Chrom’s fingers brush his cheek. “You’re crying. What was it? What did you see?”

“I--” Robin wants to shake himself, wants to dump that vision out of his brain. It lingers, tacky like sap, clinging to every thought.

Chrom looked… so happy. Marrying someone else. It’s what he deserves. Robin wants a lifetime of happiness for Chrom - happiness and _safety_ , a concept that Chrom does not understand. It’s why he nags him all the time, why he’s always trailing after him.

And, rather selfishly, Robin had thought that life would include him. _I promised I wouldn’t leave you behind_ , Chrom had said.

He hadn’t said he would _marry_ Robin.

Of course he’d want to marry a princess.

Tears leak from his eyes. “N… Nothing’s wrong, Chrom. I just…”

“Prince Chrom!” Someone calls from beyond them.

Robin’s eyes fly open. Gold still dances at the edges, and he can feel an impending dizziness. Chrom is nearby, blocking Robin from Emmeryn, and the courtiers, the rest of the kingdom, it feels, his wide shoulders spread like a shield. Robin sweeps the tears from his face and bites his lips. _Pull yourself together_.

Chrom’s blue eyes are narrowed, and one of his hands is at Robin’s elbow. He leans in, so close his hair brushes against Robin’s temple. “You saw something in the sword,” Chrom says, unblinking.

“I did,” Robin admits. It’s like Chrom has slipped a truth serum into his veins, even when Robin wants so desperately to lie. “But you… you should go. Don’t keep the Exalt waiting.”

Chrom glances over his shoulder, and takes a small step back. He doesn’t release Robin’s arm.

“I’ll be fine,” Robin says. “I’m just… upset.”

At this, Chrom’s head snaps back to Robin. “Because I pulled the sword?”

Robin lowers his eyes, and lets Chrom think that’s the reason.

“Robin, I…” Chrom is frowning, and his hand grows tighter on his elbow. “I didn’t do this to upset you, I…”

“Chrom? Is everything alright?”

He turns, releasing Robin’s elbow, and Robin ducks his face so he doesn’t have to look at the exalt. “I’ll just be a moment, Emmeryn.” Robin winces, at hearing Chrom speak so familiarly. She is his sister, but they have barely known each other for a week.

“Here, Robin,” Sully says quietly, from beside him. Robin didn’t hear her come up, and flinches badly. He looks at her outstretched hand, and then down at Falchion, at his knuckles which are tight around the hilt. He hands her the heavy sword, and Sully puts an arm around his shoulders and gives a squeeze.

Sully knows about his visions. Ma and Pa call them “fits”, and seem to ignore the way his eyes glow, but Sully is aware of every sordid detail. She knows Robin foresaw Chrom’s death, but has never asked for specifics.

“Let’s go grab some food,” she says, loud enough for Chrom to hear, “And leave our prince to his duties.”

Chrom turns, relief flooding his face. Robin’s stomach twists. He’s got enough to deal with right now, and Robin doesn't want to be a burden. He avoids meeting Chrom’s eyes directly, and lets Sully lead him away. It doesn’t feel strange to have her arm around him. He’s gotten used to her affectionate ways.

When they are out of earshot, Sully asks, “What did you see?” Her tone is casual but abrupt as always.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

Her reddish eyes shoot to meet his. “Is Chrom in danger?”

“No, it was a... good vision.” He trips a little on the words. It _was_ good, for Chrom.

He glances back, and watches as Chrom ignores the bows the courtiers are giving him. He doesn’t know how to act the prince, and he really doesn’t care. Chrom will be Chrom. This newfound royal status isn’t going to Chrom’s head.

Robin only has to worry about it stealing his heart.

~*~

Later that night, as the feast is winding down, Chrom tells Robin and Sully about the courtiers.

“One of them has an eligible daughter, and they want to introduce me to her,” Chrom says.

Robin nearly chokes on a piece of bread. Sully slaps him on the back with too much vigor - he worries he might bruise - but he swallows it down.

“Eligible?” Sully asks. “As in… marriage?”

Robin is going to be sick. “They can’t expect you to marry immediately,” he blurts out.

“Oh, no,” Chrom says, and takes a drink of wine. “Emmeryn was quite clear about me making my own choice, in my own time. Apparently my appearance has taken some of the attention off of her. She's no longer the most exciting marriage prospect in the kingdom.”

Robin stares down at his hands, gripping the tablecloth, and says nothing about his vision.

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it, the first chapter of a new massive fic I'm hoping to get done. No promises on steady updates, but I've got a ton of ideas for where to take it!  
> I take off my hat to Kristin, who originally developed this AU, and Mio for talking about it at all hours of the night. Please check out Kristin's AU designs here: https://twitter.com/shounenpng/status/1053752957295038466?s=19  
> Thank you very much for reading! (And if you've read to the end of this Note please know I'm still working on Unseen Scars. It's coming! I promise!)


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